


devil's advocate

by Karys_1



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24216499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karys_1/pseuds/Karys_1
Summary: Kuroo leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "And why should I help you?""Because," Tsukishima uttered, through gritted teeth, "It's your fucking job."Tsukishima's content with what he does. Not happy, per se, but content. You can't be too happy about working with people who break the law, but you can be content with the paycheck that comes when you get them off free.Kuroo loves his job. Jumping headfirst into fist fights. Patrolling the streets, until the crack of dawn. Arresting men who cost him too many sleepless nights.That is, until a too smug, blond lawyer gets in the way of arresting the head of Japan's biggest drug cartel.And even so when the same lawyer turns to him for unexpected help.
Relationships: Daishou Suguru/Kuroo Tetsurou, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63





	1. four walls and a roof

**Author's Note:**

> do I have actual school work to do in quarantine? maybe but am I actually revising instead of writing kurotsukki? not a god damn chance y'all
> 
> ok there you have it folks a good old lawyer/cop au, enjoy and thanks for reading in advance
> 
> p.s. the plan is to update every saturday and i got hella time in quarantine since my mocks were called off, so looking towards weekly updates and lengthening the chapters out a bit more in case any of y'all were wondering

For a place like Tokyo, crime did not make its full mark, but when it did, it was from the hand of the most twisted, intelligent, and dangerous men. Those men took kindly to going about their business, and did not like to be interrupted in said business. But Kuroo interrupted them anyway.

Even if it was two in the morning, the alleyway leading up to the abandoned warehouse was dimly lit, and he decided to wear nothing but a shirt on a cold, windy November night. Drug busts could always use extra backup, though, and considering his recent promotion to sergeant, he had no choice but to attend. Like a compulsory after party. Except the dress was well ironed uniform, and a handgun.

Kuroo sighed, and leaned against the wall.

He didn’t mind, not really. It was Kobayashi’s drug cartel, after all. If he managed to put the asshole away for good, he would be too busy celebrating for the next week to even consider sleep.

His radio gave a low crackle, and sparked into life. _“Iwaizumi calling. Ready. Confirm positions.”_

_“Kenma. Ready.”_

_“Bokuto. We’re set up over here.”_

Kuroo fiddled with the buttons, still focused on the outline of the warehouse. “Back alley’s clear. Got you covered.”

_“On my call. Hold. Hold.”_

Kuroo watched the faded silhouettes through the windows. 

_“Go, go, go-”_

Kuroo moved to turn the volume down, reaching for his revolver, turning the safety off. A radio silence, only broken with the warehouse bursting into life, muffled yells and doors being burst open by their task forces. It made sense to tell Kenma to join Bokuto, rather than waiting out here with Kuroo. The small opening in Tokyo's building complexes was an unlikely escape route.

He stepped out a bit further into the centre of the alleyway, in an attempt to blink through the darkness. He could already picture it, Iwaizumi, the arresting officer, handcuffing Kobayashi, uncovering the cocaine and heroin, smug expression wiped off-

A silhouette jumped out of the window, rolling onto the ground, back on his feet effortlessly. Surveying the area, brandishing a knife by his side, suit clad and with a scowl of a man having his sale interrupted.

“Don’t move.” Kuroo stepped out of the shadows, boots making no noise as he neared towards the other. “No sudden moves, or I swear-”

It could have been the sleep deprivation. Or a lack of initial recognition. For those unfortunate factors, Kuroo earned himself a kick that knocked his gun down to the ground, and a hook to his jaw that had the police sergeant reeling back into the brick wall.

Kuroo spat, and retaliated with a punch to Kobayashi’s nose. He used the split second of indecision, and grabbed his revolver. He wasn’t slow. Just slower than the other.

Kobayashi slashed at his arm, the knife cutting through his shirt. Another sharp hook to the jaw ensured Kuroo stayed put, and so the head of Japan’s largest drug cartel took off.

Blood dripped onto the dimly lit pavement of Tokyo’s alleyway. He should stop. Call for help. The voice in his head telling him to be rational sounded dangerously close to Kenma’s.

Kuroo liked to make other people’s lives difficult, though. So he ran.

The fence was easy to get through. Jump off the trashcan. Grab on with one hand. Climb up a few inches, swing your leg over. Fall in a deformed roll, wincing at an ankle that was most likely sprained. 

Kobayashi dove into another alleway, glancing back, and Kuroo followed, narrowly missing a bench, climbing another chain link fence.

“Following Kobayashi on foot,” Kuroo grabbed the radio when he landed, mostly on his back, already picking himself up, “Will need backup. Next alley over-”

Kuroo reached the end of the tight street.

Kobayashi was gone.

He took a few tentative steps forward, surveying the area with narrowed eyes. A silhouette on his right was hastily getting into a passenger seat, urging the driver to move, to get the hell out of here-

Kuroo fired two precise shots.

The tires deflated.

Kobayashi was quicker, though. The car door was slammed, and he ran out into another alleyway. Kuroo dove after him, through knocked over trash, leaping onto the fence with a ferocity and desperation, Kobayashi a finger's reach away from Kuroo. Centimetres away from a fatal shot. 

He didn’t shoot. 

Kuroo landed on the ground, breaths coming in heavy. Neither were at a full sprint this time, but the stakes were raised, and when Kobayashi dove into a wider alleyway with a dead end, they knew it was over. An abandoned car stood on their right, some trash cans knocked over on the left. 

The man turned around, slowly. He didn’t anticipate not getting away with the car, so he had no idea where the chase was going to end up. A knife in his hand, and acknowledgment in his eyes. 

Kuroo raised his gun. Stepped closer. “Yeah, don’t fucking move. Kobayashi, you’re under arrest for-”

The abandoned car exploded.

* * *

Every story had a hero. Tsukishima just wasn’t the hero of his.

Protagonist, maybe. He liked to think that the courtroom bent to his will ever so slightly, that it unraveled under his words. He liked to entertain the thought of prosecutors tossing and turning in their beds, his much successful closing statements ringing in their ears. His flat tone cutting through their desperate attempts to salvage the case in a justified objection.

Sure, that most likely wasn’t the case (unless the prosecutor was in a lack of self esteem or going through a middle age crisis), but he had to have something to amuse himself with. Apart from the steady flow of money into his account.

He looked down at his breakfast in disdain. ‘Hero’ would be a rather far fetched term.

“Big case, then?” Yamaguchi said, breaking the silence. He read Tsukishima well, to the point where any attempt at hiding things just got frustrating. Tsukishima looked up, raising a brow. “Don’t look at me like that. You leave your case files all over the table. And I read the newspaper.”

He received a sigh in response. Tsukishima was a practical man, intelligent and respected beyond the court room, but he felt like Yamaguchi was on top of things quicker than anyone else. Yamaguchi, juggling his schedule, coming back from shifts that stretched into twelve hours, chipper as ever at seven in the morning, straight from his run, half dressed, and cooking breakfast. Tsukishima barely had the energy to sit at the kitchen table in the morning, much less act sociable.

“Things went fine at the preliminary hearing.” He said instead. “No reason they shouldn’t be fine now.”

“Except everything depends on you now,” Yamaguchi countered, not a change in his light hearted tone, with the bluntness that he was more than happy to use these days, “And your opening statement today. Sure you don’t want me to be there?”

Tsukishima stabbed at his food vengefully, scowling at Yamaguchi and his well meaning intentions. He wondered how much energy it took to stay optimistic. “I’m twenty five, Tadashi. It’s not my first case. I’ll be fine.”

“Your biggest yet, no?”

“...Yes.”

“Sure you don’t want me to drive you there?”

“I thought we left the mother role of the group to Suga.” He bit back. “Aren’t you busy saving lives?”

Yamaguchi’s laughter rang through their small apartment, and he tipped his coffee into a thermos, grabbing his paramedic jacket. “As are you.”

For the first time in a week, Tsukishima uttered a low chuckle.

* * *

  
  


Tsukishima scowled. 

He stepped out of his beaten Mercedes, wary of the ice on the ground.

A bleak, freshly painted, dull building seemed to scowl back. The High Court was home to some of the most discussed trials in the country, its threshold familiar to some of the country’s finest lawyers. Its roof rose far from everyone’s line of sight, forcing the average passerby to crane their heads up to take in the whole structure. Symbol of judicial refinement. Sustaining and upkeeping justice.

He huffed in amusement at the thought, lighting a cigarette.

“Four walls and a roof.” He muttered. “That’s all this place is.”

Kageyama snorted, sliding over the hood of the car, the Mercedes dipping slightly under his weight. Tsukishima somewhat regretted offering him a ride, but tossed the other his lighter anyway.

Kageyama lit his cigarette with a meaningful look. “What were you muttering about this time?”

“Nothing.” He leaned against the side of the car, already feeling a headache coming on. “It’s too cold for you to get on my nerves, by the way, so shut up.”

Kageyama huffed in amusement, inhaling silently, gloved hands moving to hide themselves in the pockets of his trench coat. He was the only man that didn’t piss Tsukishima off to the point of breaking something, so they worked together fairly well. Kageyama was far from the sharpest tool in the shed, but he had good intuition with the jury, and knew what he was doing. Quiet and reserved. Didn't get on each other's nerves too much. Worked privately, with few clients, a high success rate, and big paychecks.

“Kobayashi’s going to be here in ten.” Tsukishima interrupted the quiet. “You might want to tell your boyfriend to not blow up your phone for the next few hours.”

“Fiance.” Kageyama corrected. The ring looked unnatural on his finger. Not that Tsukishima was the one to talk, but his coworker seemed like the last person to have anyone beyond an acquaintance. “Are you still pissed off about that? I told you, it was important. Shoyou was getting worried again.”

“It’s only a wedding. How much can you care?”

“A lot.”

They flicked the ashes off their cigarettes, shifting from foot to foot in the cold.

“You know,” Kageyama added, throwing the stub down to the ground, the fire flickering out under a costly heel, “If you don’t show up, I’m going to hold it over your head for at least a few years.”

Tsukishima huffed. “How long?”

“Five, minimum.”

A flicker of amusement appeared in response. “Unfortunate. I guess I’ll have to reconsider showing up.”

The High Court looked a little less bleak. Even the wind didn’t bite at their fingers so much. It was uncanny, really, the extent to which Kageyama seemed older than him, despite being the same age. Soon to be married. And there was Tsukishima, single, with a long list of one night stands, and superficially content with the lack of person in his bed the next morning.

A sleek Jaguar pulled up on the court fifteen minutes later, bringing any of their thoughts and conversations to a sharp end, swarmed by reporters before the chauffeur even had the chance to open the door. Tsukishima abandoned his cigarette, and they stepped forward, forming their expressions into stoic, professional things.

A tall, dark eyed man in his forties stepped out, with a scowl that Tsukishima doubted he could ever beat. Dressed in a branded suit, clean shaven, shoes shining and fake glasses adding to the ‘pacifist’ backstory. Tsukishima surveyed a wedding ring on his finger, fully aware of his client’s lack of wife. The man knew what he was doing.

“Kobayashi-san, why have you decided to not plead guilty? Are you confident about the outcome of the trial?”

“Is it true a member of your close family attempted to testify against you?”

“Police are blaming the car explosion on your doing, your comment?”

A security guard pushed past the reporters, with Kobayashi’s uninterested gaze not stopping on a single of their desperate faces. Tsukishima followed his client, offering an update in a low voice, whilst Kageyama gave out indifferent replies with a lack of comment, or simply repeating facts without an ounce of personal opinion. He was good at it.

“One of the policeman at the scene,” Tsukishima said, keeping in step with the other, “He’s unable to testify today. Put out of action.”

Kobayashi gave him a once over, but his half lidded eyes gave nothing away. “Name?”

“Bokuto Koutarou.” The lawyer said, as they walked up the stairs. “Friend of Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“Can you get him discredited?”

Tsukishima stumbled, unsure. “Bokuto-san’s? He was one of the arresting officers, I highly doubt-”

“Not him.” He interrupted, walking languidly, long steps, hands behind his back. At ease. “Kuroo Tetsurou.”

Tsukishima narrowed his eyes. “I can try. But I can’t promise-”

“Don’t make promises, Tsukishima. Or try.” Kobayashi sent him a forceful glare. His tone had changed. “Just do it. Got it?”

Tsukishima stared back at the man. He knew who his clients were. He knew what he got himself into. Some, obviously innocent. Strong alibis. No motives. Some had both of those advantages, got out free, but Tsukishima knew what they’ve done. He could tell the difference.

He wondered how other people would feel about letting criminals back into society.

“Of course.”

“Good.”

By the time they reached the main hall, Kobayashi’s shoulders had eased again, and his eyes flickered around the people that littered the place. Almost as if the fate of his freedom wasn't going to be put on trial today. Or, he just had endless belief in Tsukishima. Letting someone down wasn’t great, but Kobayashi wasn’t just someone. His name has been making headlines for the last fifteen years, undoubtedly for all the wrong reasons.

“I need to make a phone call.” He said, eyes already drifting away. “Go on without me. I’ll be there in five.”

Tsukishima nodded, somewhat put at ease by the newfound lack of company. Not like he was scared of the man, anyhow. It took more than the head of a national drug cartel to scare him. It didn’t mean he went to bed easy, though.

“Tsukishima-san! Rehearsed your lines enough yet?”

For the third time that morning, Tsukishima scowled. 

“I don’t mind knowing what I’m going to say,” He spat back, turning around to face the closest personification of a snake that this world could get, “And not stuttering like an idiot.”

Daishou Suguru smirked back. The prosecutor had an uncanny ability to slither in at the most convenient times, and slither out with a smile and a well forged excuse, much to his advantage. Graduating with honours, his favourite past time was winning in the larger majority of his trials with a staggering amount of charisma, perfect etiquette, and incredibly well worded monologues. His second favourite past time was rubbing it into any defence attorney’s face. That, unfortunately, was Tsukishima. Most of the time.

A man stood at his side, eyes distant. Tsukishima’s interest piqued. A stranger that was clearly used to Daishou’s antics, to the point where he knew not to intervene, or… He simply didn’t care. Dark hair, dark eyes, not to get started on that _horrible_ excuse of a hairstyle - or was it a bedhead? But who the hell would show up to court with a bedhead, honestly-

“It’s perceived as rude to praise yourself so high, Tsukishima-san.” Daishou winked, placing a hand on the shoulder of the man next to him. “Allow me to introduce you. Tsukishima-san, this is Kuroo Tetsurou. Kuroo, this is Kobayashi’s faithful lawyer.”

Tsukishima’s eyes narrowed, giving the man a careful once over. The police sergeant sent him a look of suspicion, and badly hidden anger. Tsukishima didn’t blame him. Personally, he was convinced that Kobayashi caused the car to blow up, putting the officer out of action for two whole weeks. A month passing wasn't enough to erase injuries and grudges.

Clean shaven, with a suit that was perfectly ironed, but clearly worn. Tie straightened out multiple times, despite its age, its faded colour. Regularly polished shoes, and a posture that was even better than Kageyama’s, and Tsukishima was convinced that his coworker had a stick up his ass.

Burn scars, from his lower jaw, down to the side of his neck, disappearing behind his collar, no doubt reaching further than what the eye could see. Kuroo shook his hand slowly. Tsukishima glanced down. Scars decorated the man’s hands.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Tsukishima recited, glancing between the two. They stood close, seemingly comfortable in each other’s presence. “So, Kuroo-san, when did you meet our fateful prosecutor?"

He wanted to hear the man speak. Get used to the intonation of his voice. So he can know the difference, later in court, between its natural tone, and one that is carefully questioned on every detail of his testimony, with a rising panic in his voice.

Kuroo cleared his throat. His voice sounded unnatural, strained, no doubt putting on a show in unfamiliar territory. “We met a few months after I graduated the academy. He was there when I testified for the first time. I’m guessing you two know each other well. Lawyer and prosecutor. Not your first time on the opposing sides, I'm sure."

“An understatement.” Tsukishima forced a tight lipped smile. 

“And I’m sure it won’t be the last.” Daishou glanced to him knowingly. 

“It’s a small city.” Tsukishima said. Kageyama walked into the hall, catching his eye, and tapped his watch meaningfully. Time. “Kuroo-san, pleasure to meet you. I’ll see you both inside.”

Kuroo looked at him strangely. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it with a quick shake of his head, and a superficial smile. “My pleasure.”

He was glad to step away, and did so just when Kageyama catched up to him, elbowing him lightly in the side.

“What was that about?” He asked as they walked, glancing back. “You know who he is, right?”

“I’m aware.” Tsukishima said, through gritted teeth. “Stop glancing back, they’re going to think you either have a medical condition, or I’m telling you shit about them.”

“Whatever. Kobayashi is going to be here in a few. You ready?”

They walked into the court room, surveyed the half empty seats, the half familiar faces of the witnesses. The grip on the briefcase that Kageyama passed over to him tightened, and his other hand reached to push his glasses further up his nose.

Tsukishima looked at him with a dim shade of a smile. “Always.”

The game was on.

  
  



	2. tokyo's protector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really big shout out to BeautifulDesertFoxglove for keeping me going with this work, and advising me on the law part of everything so it's not a complete mess. Cheers, ya soulless law student
> 
> it's a bit of a longer chapter, figured I should go all out so do enjoy folks, thank y'all so much for reading and see you in the next chapter

People had a tendency of getting their first impressions of others wrong.

They focused on the unnecessary parts. Mistook confidence as arrogance. Or cautiousness for a lack of ignorance or care. Appearances clouded a thorough judgment, and parts as random as a fleck of dirt on someone’s shoe might lead another to headlessly throw themselves into a series of misguided conclusions.

The case of wrongly made judgments, funnily enough, was an understatement for Kuroo. He was often seen as little beyond a mess of hair, a drawl that prolonged his vowels to the point of rousing suspicion, and a languid way of simply _being_ , going about his tasks as if houses weren’t burning behind him. The sight usually didn’t spark faith in him. Even his office at the police station, cramped and unkempt, had some civilians less than politely asking to see someone else.

That changed, a little. Since he came out of the hospital. Eyes lingering on the first degree burn scars on his jaw. Blinking at those on his hands. Maybe sparking a little of faith in the justice spurred profession. It would be the first for Kuroo, really.

He could see Tsukishima going through the motions, of rising suspicions, of scanning his attire with barely visible disdain, and finally, something sparking in that empty gaze when he looked at the scars. It felt almost satisfying to get anything out of detached expression, even if at his own cost.

“My pleasure.” Kuroo quipped at the tight faced lawyer, suddenly feeling as if the other could feel his unease concerning the courthouse. He watched him join a dark haired man, failed to put a name to the face. 

He turned back to Daishou. “Who the hell is that?”

“Kageyama Tobio.” He said. “Co-counsel. Worked with Tsukishima after turning down a job in his father’s company. They’re fairly good.”

Kuroo smoothed down invisible creases in his blazer, and tugged at his shirt collar. “Fuck. That guy, Tsukishima, looks like he sold his soul to the devil ten years ago. Didn’t he get some big murderer out years ago?”

“You worried?”

Kuroo snorted, hands dropping to his sides, only to be shoved into his pockets. “I’m not. But you know this is important, for god’s sake. I hate the bastard. He’s dangerous. What if his lawyer gets in the way?”

“That’s what lawyers do.” Daishou countered with a shrug, but his eyes were narrowed, searching Kuroo’s face for attempts to hide nerves. “They may not have souls, but he’s only a human being. You of all people should know that. Just answer his questions like you did when we went through them together.”

“That’s when we did them at my place, not in Lucifer’s living room.”

“Don’t be an imbecile. Sure, I work here, but it’s not _that_ bad.”

“Easy for you to say, asshole.” Kuroo muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You practically grew up here. You and your tragic parents’ divorce backstory that you love blaming your pain in the ass qualities on.”

Daishou flashed him a cold smirk, unfitting with the warmth in his eyes. “Don’t make an idiot of yourself, Kuroo Tetsurou. Get your shit together. You’ll be fine. You’ve handled worse before, and still showed up for work the next day.”

“A lot is hanging on this, Suguru, I can’t just-”

Kuroo glanced to the side, sentence trailing off.

Kobayashi stepped out into the hall, busying himself with tucking a burner phone into his blazer pocket. He cast a glance to the side, noticing the police sergeant with a sly smile, edges of his mouth turning upwards as if he had been fully aware of the upper hand he had his whole life.

Kuroo flinched. 

The head of Japan’s drug cartel nodded at him in the same manner one would at a fleck of dust, and took in Kuroo’s fresh scars with a strange look. It would later take Kuroo months of pouring over the moment to realise that it was a look of satisfaction. They were both present when the car blew up, still for apparently unknown reasons, but only one of them walked away with scars visible to the average passerby.

The last time he looked into that vacant gaze, he was seconds away from an arrest, and minutes away from a possible fatality. Kobayashi looked different, under a false pretense. Fake glasses, a wedding ring, irritation and anger schooled into something docile and neutral. His eyes didn’t change, though. Empty.

Kobayashi went inside the courtroom, unfazed.

“He cost me too much.” Kuroo said, after they watched him leave. He looked back to Daishou. “More than my time, or some bad headline. Too much wasted on him. And it won’t even matter if he’s not behind bars by the end of this damned trial.”

“So don’t fuck it up.” Daishou said simply. “Say the truth. There’s nothing to it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Drinks at mine later?”

Kuroo fixed his tie for the last time, pulling it up tightly, until he wasn’t sure what was causing the lack of air, the possibility of failing, or his attire. He tried for a smirk. “Do I even get to say no?”

Daishou huffed in short handed amusement. “Obviously not. Let’s go, we’re running out of time, standing around here. Can’t win a case if we’re not there to make sure justice is served, or whatever you cops like to say.”

  
  


* * *

Kuroo stepped into the courtroom.

The bleak walls stared back, lacking a single speck of dust, not a stain or imperfection on its superficial surface. The room melted into a well polished and almost shining wood, dragging out into benches and chairs, with a small population of half turned witnesses, necks craning to see how important whoever caught the miniscule part of their attention was. Barely familiar faces, moulding into a problematic mess of differing stories, hypocritical words, of wedding rings and ironed suits that put up a facade, and never had the complex nature of humans been exposed to Kuroo as much as it was when he looked at the expressions of the witnesses, judges, polished like the wood, shined into something it was not, to shine, making whatever previous atmosphere there was into an undeniably cold one.

Kuroo shifted on his feet. A light hand, placed on his back, lingering with fingertips that could appear and disappear whenever they wanted to. Kuroo looked back. Tokyo’s finest prosecutor smiled back.

“I got you, wild cat.” Daishou whispered. No one else took notice. They preferred it that way. “I got you.”

Oh, Daishou. Perfect, sharp at the edges, not polished, not moulded, but put together, the two halves of a man blended into a perfect mix of snarky and caring. It’s what caught his eye four years ago, after he tore Kuroo to the ground, destroyed whatever shreds of evidence the newly made officer brought in, he destroyed him, then brought him up from the ground, with a drink and a few words. 

“I know.” Kuroo said. Smiled back. “Go do your job, casanova.”

They were nothing. But nothing suited them. 

Kuroo was never a replacement for Mika. Never a lousy substitute. Daishou wasn’t a rebound, after an inevitable breakup. He was the clean laundry in the morning. The breakfast, three times a week, when their schedules matched up, and they could spend twenty minutes in Daishou’s kitchen at seven in the morning, eating and talking about everything of importance, and about nothing at all. It was making out in Kuroo’s police car after work, and Daishou’s office, when things went wrong, when people got in their ways, and the edges of their nails dug in hard, and they slammed the door on their way out even harder.

But they were nothing. Casual. They didn’t tell, because there was nothing to be told.

Daishou brushed past him, and he was gone. Smile schooled into an expression of impartiality, with contempt boiling right behind it, waiting for the right moment to rear its ugly face. Stepping over to shake Tsukishima’s hand. Civil. Tsukishima much less so, but Kuroo couldn’t care, because Kobayashi was there, that son of a bitch, looking over at him, knowing, knowing how much he cost Kuroo everything, and-

A hand grabbed at his sleeve, pulling him down to the bench, as easily as if he’d been pulling people out of unwanted positions into more favourable ones for a living. Kuroo glanced at the journalist. He did. 

“I had no idea you two are still sleeping around, Tetsu, huh?”

“I could say the same thing for you and Iwaizumi, Tooru.”

Oikawa laughed. Kuroo had to admit, it was the easiest laugh anyone could ever muster. The man was more charismatic than Kuroo attempting to get on Yaku’s good side after staying up all night with paperwork.

“We’re on and off.” Oikawa said with a wave of his hand, dismissing the idea as easily as any strings attached to an actual, romantic relationship. His eyes bore into Kobayashi, a pen and notebook in his hand. “You sure you want to be here? Hajime said-”

“Hajime said this, Hajime said that. I’m a grown man, I can make my own decisions. Besides, if I’m not here, how the hell is that bastard going to get convicted?” Kuroo countered, leaning against the chair rigidly. “God, I should have shot him when I had the chance.”

Oikawa sighed. “You’re lucky you’re good looking, Tetsu, or I would quote you threatening murder on the first page of tomorrow’s edition. Could make some serious money.”

“You could,” Kuroo drawled, “But then again, you love me too much. And you would get on your dear Iwa-chan’s nerves. He likes working with me.”

Oikawa smiled, his pen already engraving the date on the top of his page in cursive, letters dipping in and out in the same untroubled way that Oikawa did everything. “You’re a pretty good man. For a police officer.”

Kuroo looked at Kobayashi. The devil stared back. “It’s just what I do.”

  
  


* * *

A low tone called his name to the stand. Kuroo stepped forward. Oikawa nodded in an attempt to assure him. Daishou didn’t need to. Everything was fine.

Kenma would probably scold him for being stupid. So would Yaku, only the latter would swear more. It wasn’t his first time in a courtroom, hell, he’s lost count of the number of times he gave his testimony, but then again, never had a bastard like Kobayashi been a few feet away from him.

Kuroo wondered what fortune had him standing where he was. Why he was the one standing there, instead of all the officers that Kobayashi took care of over the years. Murdered.

Assassinated, that was. Had assassinated. Allegedly.

Kuroo stole a glance at the indifferent defendant.

Men like him rarely got their hands dirty.

  
  


“Kuroo-san.” Tsukishima said. His tie was perfect. The rest of his suit was, too. Not a single crease, not a single smudge, blazer and slacks ironed to perfection, complimented by carefully combed hair, as if his entire being was composed like a self restrained melody. Not an ounce of snarkiness in his voice, like when he bit back at Daishou earlier, he was almost bored this time, as if the devil wasn’t sitting on his right shoulder. “Do you recall making a previous statement regarding the incident on the 17th of November?”

“I do.” Kuroo said, slowly. “Two senior police officers came by the hospital after I woke up.”

Much like Daishou, Tsukishima struck at any cracks in people’s stories without giving them a chance to think. Kuroo was starting to think that it was a running character trait for the justice system. “Would it be fair to say that your state of mind after waking up from a concussion would have been unfavourable in terms of recollection? Recollecting memories?”

Kuroo shifted on his feet, mouth dry. “Well, I… I’m sure the concussion didn’t really change much, I...”

“Motion to strike the answer.” Daishou interrupted, as much in his element as one could be. “Leading the witness.”

“Sustained.” The judge replied. “Rephrase the question, please.”

Tsukishima didn’t blink, back on his feet without a stutter or an ounce of hesitation. “Kuroo-san, what was your state of mind when you woke up on the day you talked to the police?”

“Stable.” Kuroo said. He resisted the urge to tug at his tie. “I was competent to give a full report on what happened.”

“Even with a concussion?”

Kuroo wavered. “I didn’t leave anything out.”

Tsukishima didn’t glance away, his eyes bored into the entirety of Kuroo, of his unkempt bedhead, the scarred hands that kept shifting from pockets. The man probably thought he was a nerve wracked idiot by now.

“I understand that you retain full memory of the night, then.” Tsukishima moved on. Kuroo could sense Daishou tense, as they both watched the lawyer with flickering suspicions. Kobayashi leaned back in his chair. “Did you arrive at the scene alone?”

“No.” Kuroo shook his head. “I was with my colleague. Kozume Kenma.”

Kuroo thought he imagined the ends of Tsukishima’s lips somewhat raised. “Was your colleague with you when you allegedly chased after Kobayashi-san?”

“I told him to join the main squads.” Kuroo said slowly, coming to a realisation how this looked for him. “I was, uh... Under the impression that I wouldn’t require backup.”

“So,” Tsukishima tapped his fingertips against the polished surface of the desk, “It may be understood that none of your colleagues saw you chase after my client?”

Kuroo reached up to his tie, pulling it up as he paled. “No.”

Daishou said he would question everything. The time, the location, his state, hell, he could question his entire record, and an officer should be prepared for that by now.

“Were there any other underlying reasons behind sending your colleague away, Kuroo-san?”

Daishou moved, standing with a composure that successfully hid a frustration boiling beneath. “Objection, Your Honour, Tsukishima-san is _clearly_ leading my witness-”

“Overruled. Answer the question, Kuroo-san.”

Daishou sent him an apologetic look. Kobayashi crossed his arms, pleased. 

“No.” Kuroo eventually said. “I regret sending him away. I had no idea that the alleyway would be used as an escape route.”

Tsukishima nodded. Content. Kuroo blinked, as the lawyer shifted on his feet, not in hesitation, but in preparation to tear the second line of defence down.

“Sergeant, how familiar would you say you are to the events of the incident?”

Kuroo stalled, glancing at Daishou, but the prosecutor only raised his brows, uncertain. “I would say, well… Familiar. I was there. I watched Kobayashi escape the warehouse that night, I engaged in an attempt to arrest him, followed by a chase. And the explosion.”

“What is your state of mind regarding the reliability of your testimony, sergeant?”

“I know what I saw.” Kuroo countered, voice rising in frustration before Daishou could raise an objection, raising a hand to point at Kobayashi. “I know it was him, I- I saw him run out of the warehouse, he _cut_ my arm.”

“Let the record show that Kuroo-san is pointing to my client.” Tsukishima said, voice composed, and unlike Kuroo’s, not sounding like he was being strangled. “Answer the question, please, what is your state of mind regarding the reliability of your testimony.”

“Stable.” Kuroo said through gritted teeth.

“So it may be understood that you have no doubts about the events and people involved on the night of the incident?”

Kuroo opened his mouth to bite back, but a chair was scraped back, and Daishou cut in. “Objection, Your Honour, asked and answered-”

“Sustained.” The judge said. “Get on with your line of questioning.”

Tsukishima didn’t falter, he obviously didn’t, with his sly eyes and restrain, how could he? “Kuroo-san, how extensive would you say your familiarity with Kobayashi is?”

“Familiar.” Kuroo said, through gritted teeth. “I’ve arrested him twice before, on accounts of bribery, and possession with intention to distribute.”

Tsukishima nodded, making a theatrical show of his comprehension of the statement, retreating back to his bench. He picked up a file, taking out a few copies of a darkened photo that resembled a CCTV frame with a man walking down a street, and passed it out. Daishou took it with a scowl, scanning the photo with a deepening frown.

“Kuroo-san, do you recognise the man on the photo?”

Kobayashi’s face, badly hidden by a cheap baseball cap, hid most of his face. It was dark when it was taken, seemingly taken out of some CCTV montage. Kuroo shifted from foot to foot. The weight of the judge’s stare heaved upon him.

“I do.” Kuroo said. “It’s your client. Kobayashi.”

“May it please the court,” Tsukishima said, slowly, meeting Kuroo’s eye with that empty gaze of his, “That the man in the photo, who possesses seemingly striking resemblance to my client, is, in fact, my client’s brother, present three streets away from the explosion twenty minutes before it took place.

Kuroo swallowed dry air. Looked down at the photo.

Shit quality. It was, but he couldn’t deny that it wasn’t Kobayashi, of course, there was resemblance, but resemblance wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough, and now-

The chair was scraped back, and Daishou was on his feet again, the photo in hand, “Move to strike, Your Honour, Kuroo-san’s familiarity with Kobayashi-san does not provide satisfactory grounds for his competence in recognition of- of some badly lit CCTV _frame_ , it simply isn’t rational to assume that-.”

“Your Honour,” Tsukishima cut in, “Incompetence of recognition of my client in dark and difficult areas proves ground for Kuroo-san to be incompetent of recognising Kobayashi-san as the culprit, much less base his entire testimony on some assumptions, especially considering the surrounding area of the warehouse, badly lit, and making it difficult for anyone to identify another reliably.”

Kuroo glanced back. Oikawa glanced away. 

“Overruled. Tsukishima-san, proceed.”

Kuroo swallowed dry air.

“Sergeant.” Tsukishima said. Smiled. His expression mirrored Kobayashi’s. “An innocent man’s freedom depends on your statement. On an eyewitness testimony. It was dark, it was late, you were most likely overworked and tired, I have to ask - are you sure, Kuroo-san, completely sure, that the man you saw running out of that warehouse was my client? Are you _sure_ of what you saw?”

Kuroo faltered. He was sure, obviously, he had to be - what would he be, if he couldn’t remember the man that cost him his health, his sleep, his time?

“I’m sure.” Kuroo muttered. “It was him. It had to be.”

“My client wasn’t in Tokyo the night before, Kuroo-san.” Tsukishima said. Kuroo couldn’t recognise the expression on Daishou’s face. A mix of disappointment and frustration, most likely. “He was on a business trip in Miyagi, away for the weekend, and only returning during the late hour. I understand you may have been mislead, given your state, but-”

Kuroo pulled his tie up, until he could pretend that the tightness in his throat was completely created by the tie.

“Is there any, _any_ existing possibility that the man you saw that night was not the defendant?”

Kuroo knew there wasn’t. He wasn’t able to imagine the dead, empty and yet irritated gaze of the man. He’s been trying to arrest him for years. It was basically impossible to, the bastard always had an air tight alibi, and if he did, he would be too busy taking the rest of the week off. Hell, he could probably even manage to persuade Daishou to get a drink with his friends, which was a feat in itself, considering how averse he usually was towards cops.

Kuroo wavered. 

He didn’t _know_. He had a concussion and was unconscious for three days, for god’s sake. He was sure, he had to be, he had to have the right man, but the thought that it could be that bastard’s brother, or anyone, seeped into his mind without warning. You couldn’t stop a thought of a possibility. They were practically the deadliest thing.

And it was an entire month ago, they were far into December now. Sure, snow hadn’t begun to fall, but there was a cold breeze to greet him on his morning runs, much like migraines, and he was only so well reminded of the morphine supply he was hooked onto for two days. And when Kenma handed him that mirror, when he saw those scars, god-

“Kuroo-san, an innocent man’s future could rely on a falsely mistaken identity. Is there any possibility, any, that the man you attempted to chase and arrest was not the defendant?”

“I’m not sure.” Kuroo said quietly.

Satisfaction glinted in Tsukishima’s eye. Daishou looked like he just got kicked in the gut. Kuroo couldn’t blame him.

“No further questions, Your Honour.”

  
  


* * *

A clammer of movement once a short recess was called, and Kuroo stood up hastily, brushing past the half familiar faces, past Oikawa’s questioning gaze, and whatever Daishou had to say to him. It was over. Third time in a row, and it was not a charm, it was a fucking nightmare. Kuroo let him go. Three words was all it took.

Kobayashi grinned at him.

Kuroo stepped outside into the hall, past the suit clad lawyers, prosecutors, a judge, past the witnesses that looked as much out of place as the rushed police officer did. He rushed, past the doors, past the news reporters, gathering around desperately, and he glanced away to hide his face. He walked away from the courthouse, glancing at his borrowed watch from Daishou, noted the time, knew there was little left for the recess, and time was running out, like it did a month ago. Except this time, he wasn’t in an ambulance with an oxygen mask pressed into his mouth, Kenma by his side, this time, he was alone, and breathing was more difficult without help.

Kuroo sat down on Daishou’s Mercedes, crossing his arms as the car dipped slightly under his weight. He leaned on its hood, dangling his feet centimetres away from the ground. He used to do that with his parents’ cars, sit back on the hood for hours in the summer with ice cream in his hand, Kenma immersed in his console next to him.

He flexed his fingers. The feeling in his right hand was dull now. He wondered how well he would be able to feel different temperatures now, much less ice running down his hand. He used to be the best shot in the academy. He wondered how well he would cope with a gun in his hand now. Lev could probably outdo him.

“Get off my car, you-”

Kuroo glanced over his shoulder. Tsukishima stopped in his tracks, a few feet away from the car, armed with nothing but a scowl that seemed set in his expression, hands shoved into his coat.

“You… Oh. It’s _you_.” 

“Yes, it’s me.” Kuroo said sharply, eyes narrowing at the sight of the other. “What do you want?”

Tsukishima gifted Kuroo with a look that only the highest ranked idiots would earn. “I want you to get off my car.”

Kuroo huffed in amusement, sliding off the hood. “ _Your_ car? It’s not yours, it’s Daishou's-”

He looked to the number plate. This wasn’t Daishou’s car.

Just fairly identical.

“Ah.” Kuroo said eventually. “It is your car.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.” Tsukishima sighed. It sounded more tired than snarky, with previous arrogance seemingly seeping out when he stepped out of the courthouse. “You can stop looking like a kicked dog now, hanging around in the parking lot with your one man pity party.”

“You’re the one to talk.” Kuroo bit back. “You _just_ tore down my entire testimony back there. I’m allowed to be pissed off. With you, especially.”

“I’m doing my job.” He shrugged in response, taking out a packet of cigarettes, and searching his pockets for a lighter with the other hand. “I can say the same for you. I was already busy this week, trying to help pick a wedding venue for a friend.”

“Your client nearly _killed_ me.”

Tsukishima raised a brow, unconvinced. “Right. Sure.”

The lawyer sat down on the hood of his car, lighting a cigarette without a word. He then held the packet out to Kuroo expectedly, in some cynical peace agreement. In the form of cancer sticks. They were, theoretically, only doing their jobs. Just parallel lines, finally crossing after an unexpected turn.

“Take it.” Tsukishima snapped. “I’m in a good mood. Usually, I would have told you to fuck off by now.”

“Yeah, that scowl makes you look delighted.”

He flipped Kuroo off, lowering it after Kuroo took a cigarette, and he sat by Tsukishima after a moment of hesitation.

“I don’t smoke.” Kuroo said, lighting the cigarette. Tsukishima raised a brow in question. “My roommate doesn’t like it.” 

Kenma put up with a lot of his messy habits, but tended to throw out any cigarette packets without a word. So Kuroo stopped wasting his money on smoking, if he knew that his faithful roommate was going to get rid of them.

“What, he got a leash on you? I thought you would at least attempt to be more intimidating.”

Kuroo inhaled with a sullen frown. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know. Tokyo’s finest. Protector of our city. Didn’t the papers give you that nickname, months ago?”

“I kind of caught a serial arsonist.” Kuroo didn’t bother fighting the shadow of a smile that crossed his face. “Big deal at the time. I don’t do courtrooms, though. Especially when smartasses like you are defending criminals.”

Tsukishima opened his mouth with a look of curiosity, but shook his head, scowl returning. “I could tell.”

Kuroo resisted the urge to bite back, looking up at the clouded sky, exhaling with a contended sigh. He’d avoided nicotine in any form for the last six months, but god, it felt calming despite the resignation that washed over him. He’d lost, his certainty was thrown out, and Kobayashi slipped through his fingers again.

Worst of all, the man behind it all sat next to him, sharing a cigarette.

Kuroo moved to loosen his tie. “Why are you even talking to me?”

Tsukishima frowned. “What?”

“You didn’t tell me to fuck off. You’re just smoking with the officer that, you know, tried to ruin your work.”

“Unsuccessfully.” Tsukishima said. It was Kuroo’s turn to scowl. The lawyer leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “If I had to hate every person that tried to object my word, or make my day difficult, I wouldn’t have time to do my actual job.”

“Besides,” He carried on, flicking the rest of the cigarette onto the grey concrete, “You may be an idiot, but I guess you’re just trying to do the right thing.”

Kuroo chuckled. “Aren’t we all?”

“Speak for yourself.” Tsukishima said, getting to his feet. “You’re still an imbecile, though.”

“I graduated university, you know.” Kuroo tried.

“Can’t say it helped you back there on the stand.”

Kuroo flipped him off, fishing his phone out when it buzzed, unsure if he was supposed to be relieved for the interruption or pissed off.

**_lev’s boyfriend_ **

_How did the case go_

_Tell me you didn’t fuck it up by being a smartass_

_Can you come by the station after_

_Got a potential suspect for those car robberies, I would question the bastard but I’m on patrol with Lev_

  
  


It wasn’t that relevant. He could just tell Yaku to have Ennoshita or one of the other senior officers do it for him. He should go and stay for the rest of the court case, like he ought to. Catch up with Daishou. Apologise for fucking the whole thing up. Grit his teeth through Daishou attempting to smooth things over. Give some miserable excuse for that moment of indecision.

Kuroo jumped off the hood. Daishou’s silhouette stepped out of the courthouse, neatly side stepping past the reporters, glancing around. For Kuroo, no doubt. He looked back to Tsukishima, smile strained.

“I have to get back. To the station, I mean.” He threw his cigarette down, putting it out with his heel. “Could you mention to Daishou that I had to get back to work?”

Tsukishima looked at him with something strange in his eyes, and for a second, he had the police sergeant thinking that he was going to decline. But then again, Kuroo got his first impressions of people wrong, too. Kobayashi’s dead, empty eyes were so, so far from the curiosity that piqued Tsukishima’s eyes, the silent question in his expression, caution and suspicion, intelligence that must have been mistaken for arrogance too many times.

Tsukishima looked away. “It’s the least I could do.”

  
  


* * *

The Chuo police station in central Tokyo was shabby and grey, standing out by the high rise, commercial buildings, neon lights blinking in the darkness that came over the capital quickly in December. Besides the outer walls, freshly painted and free from graffiti for roughly a month, the rest of the building was run down and in need of maintenance, much like the police cars and the sole motorcycle that belonged to Yamamoto. Yet, despite the one hell of an eyesore it was, the station brimmed with warmth, filled by some of the best people that Kuroo had the luck to meet. It was the same threshold he and Kenma stepped through together four days ago, where he knocked over Yaku’s files and coffee in a terrible first meeting, and scratched Yamamoto’s motorcycle in an attempt to not run Iwaizumi over when parking. He clocked in every day at least ten minutes late, didn’t clock out until it was dark and he was exhausted, only to do the exact same thing the next day.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was home. 

Kuroo stepped through the doors of the station with a sigh, loosening his tie as he raised a hand in greeting to Ennoshita, who sat at the main desk, skillfully sidestepping to avoid an over excited Lev ranting on about something that he saw on patrol, pretended to not notice Yaku flipping him off as he avoided the half-Russian on purpose, greeting the rest of his officers whilst avoiding the rather heavy file that Kenma aimed at Yamamoto’s head. He barely missed the follow up, and a pen hit Yamamoto right between the eyes as Kenma raised a hand with a low greeting. Kuroo barely had any time to snigger as he stepped back, nearly walking into a tired looking Inuoka attempting to hold three cups of coffee.

“Sergeant!” Inuoka lit up, stepping to the side to put the cups by the computer on his desk, fixing his already immaculate uniform at the sight of his senior. “I didn’t think you would make it back so early. Coffee?”

“Well, unless you’re planning to drink them all by yourself.” Kuroo said, taking his tie off and stuffing it into his blazer. “Didn’t you take yesterday’s afternoon off, why do you look half dead?”

Yamamoto chucked a pen back at Kenma, unsuccessfully, and grinned at his sergeant. “He’s tired, texting that mystery guy the whole morning. Stayed up all night, doing-”

“You’re vile.” Kenma cut him off, in his usual no-nonsense manner, scoffing when Yamamoto flipped him off. “When are you going to stop sticking your nose into other people’s business, and get your own love life?”

“Now, now,” Kuroo chuckled, the chaotic atmosphere filling their workspace as familiar to him as the air he breathed and the blood pumping in his veins. “Pretty sure relationship talk was off the table at work. Not like you kids have anything to talk about, anyway.”

“You’re older by a _year_.” Kenma flipped him off with a scowl. Kuroo grinned back intelligently.

Lev appeared out of nowhere, as you do, with the lack of social cues or timing that he was known for. “Oh! Are we talking about Inuoka and that fireman he’s dating?”

Inuoka whipped to face the lanky police officer, red in the face. “You promised you wouldn’t say anything!”

Yamamoto got to his feet, grabbing Inuoka and shaking him by the shoulders, theatrical in his disappointment. “A _fireman_? We raised you better!”

“I didn’t.” Kenma stated, as a matter of fact. “I’m disowning you, Inuoka.”

Kuroo shook his head in mock disappointment. “Just like I predicted. No love life whatsoever.”

He slipped out as Inuoka attempted to explain himself, grabbing a coffee on his way out as the sound of something falling to the floor followed him on his way out. He walked past the file clad desks that decorated their main working space, turning into a hallway and pushing his shoulder into the door of his office as he turned the handle. He was meant to get the lock repaired, but much like most matters that weren’t of life and death importance, he simply procrastinated until someone kicked him into doing it. Usually Iwaizumi, or Yaku.

You could usually figure out a person by taking a closer look at their room, their office, their small corner of the world. The state of their walls. If their desk is littered by empty boxes of takeaway, or letters of overdue debts. If the drawers are falling off their hinges, littered with countless documents inside, like Kuroo’s. What hanged on the walls. How many punches said wall took.

Kuroo’s wall took a few. Criminals had a way of slipping through their fingers sometimes, even with the skill and genius of his squad. The same bloodied knuckles and scarred fingers that caused the dents would cover them up with newspaper cutouts the next day, until the room was partly decorated with headlines and black and white photos. A murderer or two. Uncovering drugs worth half a million of dollars. Arresting a serial arsonist after a two month undercover mission.

The last one earned him a medal. A reputation. And a promotion.

Kuroo stepped over some leftover takeaway that he must have forgot about after falling asleep on the desk, moved one of the stack of files from his clattered desk to the floor to create some room, and leaned back in the nearly broken chair. It was cramped, and didn’t have much leg room. Both the heater and air conditioner was broken.

But it was the sergeant’s office, and it’s everything he could ask for.

He just got the run down computer to cooperate when the door opened, and Yaku stepped through with a file in his hand, taking a seat opposite Kuroo. They sat in silence for a few precious seconds.

“That dickhead you sleep with mentioned you hurried back.” Yaku eventually said. “It went that bad?”

There was no malice in his voice, no disappointment or frustration, but Kuroo crossed his arms anyway, and avoided his gaze. “He’s got a name, you know.”

“He’ll get a name if he’s more than casual sex.” Yaku bit back. “Did you evade questions like that at the trial, too? ‘Cause if you did, then it’s fairly obvious why that fucker is going to go free.”

Kuroo rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Whatever, Mori. I have things to do. Who’s that suspect you wanted me to question?”

“Fuck that suspect.” Yaku snapped. “What the fuck is the matter with you? Did you walk out halfway through your testimony, or some shit?”

“I said I wasn’t sure, okay? I said I wasn’t sure if I saw Kobayashi that night.”

Yaku leaned back in his chair. “Did you? See him?”

“I _did_. The bastard had me walk into a fucking mess. I don’t want to talk about it.” He opened his drawer, digging out his glasses and cleaning them with the hem of his shirt to busy himself. “Bokuto’s still recovering in hospital, we still haven’t found that fucker who’s robbing those cars, and I just secured Kobayashi’s verdict.”

“You can stop with the fucking pity party, alright?” Yaku moved to stand. “Yeah, alright, you fucked up. That’s what people _do_.”

“The fucker’s dangerous, you of all people should know that. You’ve seen what he can do.”

Yaku’s eyes hardened, but he shook his head. “I’ve also seen what _you_ can do. He needs to be lucky in getting away every single time. You only need to be lucky once.”

“Yeah.” Kuroo said slowly. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Of course I fucking am. Now get on with your work, we want to grab a drink later before checking in on Bokuto.” 

“Hey. Mori?”

Yaku paused on his way out, and looked back. “Yeah, asshole?”

“Thank you.” Kuroo said. “And tell Inuoka that if he’s actually going out with anyone from the fire department, he’s fired.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


There were long days ahead of winter, and even without any snow, a chill seeped into Daishou’s apartment. Sunlight streaked through, warm despite the east winds biting outside, struggling to light up the immaculate ceramic tiles in the kitchen, frail against the beige blinds. If one was to open the window, push the frozen lock with their shoulder and let the bitter breeze in, they could bear witness to the stillness of the peacefully quiet street, tucked away from the hustle of people rushing to work.

It was ten past seven on the odd Friday, the last day of Kobayashi’s trial, and Tokyo’s finest sergeant was sitting on the kitchen counter with nothing but his boxers on, scrolling through the news on his phone, drinking milk straight out of the carton with his other hand.

A muffled shower was turned off, and a minute later, Daishou walked into the kitchen, surveying Kuroo with an unimpressed glare. “You’re disgusting.”

Kuroo didn’t look up, taking another swig from the carton. “Yeah, that’s not what you said last night.”

Daishou didn’t bother gracing the remark with a response, fixing his shirt and brushing dust off his slacks as he joined the other on the kitchen counter. Kuroo agreed to take a day off, for the trial, and Daishou didn’t try to argue with him. They elegantly avoided talking about Kuroo’s testimony and the entirety of the trial, in an attempt to keep things light. “Did you do the dishes last night?”

“I’ll do them before we leave.” Kuroo tried instead, turning his phone off as he moved closer to the other. “Good morning.”

Daishou leaned into the kiss with an amused snort. “You trying to get out of chores, you parasite?”

Kuroo flipped him off with a chuckle, jumping off the counter to grab the suit he left hanging over the kitchen chair last night. “What can I say? I’m a busy man.”

“Not too busy to end up talking to Tsukishima of all people.”

“I already told you,” Kuroo said, looking away, “He was just being a smartass. And I could use a cigarette, you know, considering I just fucked myself over big time.”

“Tetsurou, that wasn’t even your fault. You answered his questions honestly. If you weren’t sure, then you weren’t sure.”

“We can talk about it in the car.” 

“If it makes you feel better.”

“Kenma called when you were in the shower, I can’t stick around after the trial for long. Iwaizumi needs something.” Kuroo said, buttoning up his shirt, attempting to find the tie he threw on the floor last night. “You hungry? I can make breakfast.”

Daishou let everything be normal for a little longer. They only had so long. “As long as you don’t fuck it up like last time.”


End file.
